


Questionable Sense of Humour

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Author Does Not Give A Goshdarn About Tag Protocol, Babies and Infant Care, Crack, Drabble, Implied Awkward Future Johnlock Feels, Prolly Crack, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:57:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>After an hour of fighting Lestrade on the telephone and listening to the baby’s wailing (and then his flatmate’s wailing because of the baby’s wailing) and another half-hour of fighting for the attention of a bored-looking supermarket employee with the still-shrieking infant cradled against his chest (depositing snot and tears and vomit onto the front of his favourite jumper, thank you very much) to figure out what exactly they needed to care for said infant—because Lestrade seemed to think it would be amusing to leave her in their care until the whole thing could be sorted out which John is </i>definitely blaming Sherlock for<i>—and then ten minutes of begging Mrs. Hudson and then Sherlock to hold her while he made her formula, John is simply happy not to have anything screaming in his ear anymore.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Questionable Sense of Humour

**Author's Note:**

> So basically this is a thing because I went on a rant to my best friend about men with babies and I said, "Oh, god, someone needs to put a baby in Sherlock's hands," and she told me she thought he'd probably drop it.  
> And this became a thing.  
> I am so sorry, Sherlock fandom.  
> I posted it first to my Tumblr and now it's here and...  
> I am so, so very sorry...

To be fair, Sherlock does go a grand total of forty-four seconds without saying anything before—“I don’t like it.  John, take this.”

“Sherlock, _she_ is not an _it_ , nor is she a _this_ , she is a _she,”_ John responds patiently from the kitchen, ducking his head to hide his amusement, though his friend must certainly be able to detect it.  Still, he doesn’t hear any _crying,_ so he’s unperturbed.  Actually, what he _does_ hear are small, pleased coos.  So, regardless of whether or not _Sherlock_ is happy with the current arrangement, the baby certainly seems to be content.  After an hour of fighting Lestrade on the telephone and listening to the baby’s wailing (and then his flatmate’s wailing because of the baby’s wailing) and another half-hour of fighting for the attention of a bored-looking supermarket employee with the still-shrieking infant cradled against his chest (depositing snot and tears and vomit onto the front of his favourite jumper, thank you very much) to figure out what exactly they needed to care for said infant—because Lestrade seemed to think it would be amusing to leave her in their care until the whole thing could be sorted out _which John is definitely blaming Sherlock for_ —and then ten minutes of begging Mrs. Hudson and then Sherlock to hold her while he made her formula, John is simply happy not to have anything screaming in his ear anymore.

_Anyone,_ he silently scolds himself.

When he returns to the sitting room, warm bottle in hand, Sherlock is still standing where he left him, frozen and tense, holding the infant away from his body.  If John didn’t know him any better, he’d say he’s scared.  It doesn’t take a genius of Holmesian calibre to understand that something of his amusement must show on his face because the other man rolls his eyes in annoyance and hisses, “Do _not_ look at me that way and please take it.”  When John makes no move to do so, he sighs in resignation and amends, “Take _her.”_

Huffing a gentle laugh, the shorter man says, “No,” quite abruptly and moves a step closer.  “I have held her and jostled her and bought all the supplies I could ever need for her and _I need a break_ so you, the great, brilliant, fantastic Sherlock Holmes, are going to learn to feed a baby.”  Sherlock gapes down at him in horror, then at her, and looks as if he would much rather drop the child and run.  “Think of it as an experiment,” John suggests helpfully.

“Don’t patronize me, there’s nothing experimental about doing something that humans have effectively been doing for years,” Sherlock spits without any real venom.

“Then think of it as a favour to me,” the other sighs.  His friend looks more apt to vomit but allows John to manipulate the infant and his arms so that they are in something of a more comfortable position, baby cradled properly and one arm free to feed her.  He gives a long-suffering groan when the bottle is pushed into his hand but sets about feeding her without audible complaint (or very audible, but John has grown quite capable of blocking him out when necessary).

Heavily, John plants himself on the couch and watches the tall man.  After a few moments of complete and utter silence, he begins to speak and, for a moment, the sound of Sherlock speaking quietly to the baby, in tones almost too soft for John to fully make out, is soothing enough to relax the doctor.  He begins to pace, not in his usual rapid step, but slow, graceful steps, fluid motions about the room.  The baby suckles happily, and sometimes she is positioned so that he can see her fingers curl or her toes.  Sherlock bends, willowy, over her, curly locks in his narrow, pale eyes, sculpted lips moving quickly over the words that, distantly, John knows are technical terms—descriptors for the different types of tobacco ash, and if he were less exhausted he would find it funny—and he’s both more and less human then than his flatmate has ever seen him.

But then Sherlock stops.

“What?” he demands, a hint of a smile curling those lips.

“Nothing, I—you’re just very good at that,” John laughs.

The other man frowns briefly, and then laughs softly.  “Of course I am,” he replies, almost taunting.


End file.
